Ace baby at the Bronco, a short story by StevenHunley. Date added: 2010-02-13. Times viewed: 2568.
- Please SEND FEEDBACK - Writers love hearing from you. You can view the Authors profile here
- Intro: highschools girls raise money for school
Ace Baby at the Bronco
Ace Baby was called Ace Baby because none of us could remember his name. He had just got paid, so he was flittering towards South White Street, hoping to score. He checked his new haircut in the rear-view mirror. His hair was short-cut and precise like velvet. His shirt was colorfully iridescent.
"Yes," he thought to himself, "I am a pretty boy."
When he pulled his convertible up in front of the dope house, he parked it next to the magnolia tree where three girl spiders were devouring a butterfly, divesting it of its wings. He didn't take notice. He was in too much of a hurry to get loaded.
As Ace Baby was leaving he decided he wanted a party.
He saw three schoolgirls in the driveway next door. They were ditching. It was summer, so they had plenty of flesh going on.
He decided he could handle three parties. He figured he could do it. It was a big enough bag. He would, as they say, be up for it. All night if necessary.
As he was leaving, Ace Baby made a mistake. He drifted to close. You couldn't blame him. Carrying so big a bag had him all judgment impaired. But he was still a man. So he rolled down his window.
"I know where there's a party ladies."
"Right here in my pants."
Dreamer gave him the once-over.
"It's too small a party for the three of us," she laughed.
Dreamer's thing was her boobs. They were, as many have judged them to be, "ripe melons."
She stepped over and coyly leaned down while examining his radio.
He noticed this.
Dreamer should have been a banker; she always made the most of her assets. They had always earned her considerable interest.
The shadow now revealed between her ample breasts suddenly grabbed his attention by the throat. Her low cut top left little to his imagination. He liked that, since he was a man who had not much.
Shygirl drifted over to his opposite door and just stood. It was all she had to do. Her ultra-low-cut jeans accentuated her hips. Her mother was Greek, so she had hips imported straight from Venus. Not de planet, de Milo. She saw his apple laying on the car seat. It was a firm ripe apple. Women don't go much for soft rotten apples. It was the only apple she'd never had. So she took it. When her perfect white teeth pierced its crimson skin, the juice hiding inside was forced to squirt forth, and couldn't stop itself from dripping down its smooth sides. She captured it with her pretty pink tongue, not allowing one drop to escape. She liked apple juice. It is said Aphrodite did too. Aphrodite/ Venus/ Shygirl, what difference did it make? They were all the same.
Lonely stepped closer, and Ace Baby couldn't help now but notice her Sophia Loren eyes and lips. She had somehow incorporated them into a perfectly innocent face. What he couldn't see was her Buck knife in her back pocket. When it came to the nitty-gritty, Lonely could shove her knife. An innocent face, a Buck knife, a dangerous combination.
If Ace Baby had really given any of them a complete once-over, he might have noticed their fire-engine-red toenails exposed through the holes in their white worn tennies. But he didn't. He was too distracted.
His eyes had been blinded while watching highlights of sweet summer sweat slow-dancing across brown bodies. That's all he could think of. Then Lonely asked,
"What were you doin' over there?" pointing next door.
"This," he said gleefully, holding up the bag.
Their eyes opened wide in feigned excitement. They were good at feigning excitement.
"Where can we go?" said Dreamer to all.
"To the Bronco Inn" said Shygirl, "I know the desk clerk."
So they did.
In the room he had difficulty opening the bag.
"Here," Dreamer said. Taking it from him, she bit it open with her teeth, then wiped off the dresser with her sleeve, and dumped it out.
He crunched it up using the edge of a credit card, then lined it up. They rolled up a hundred dollar bill, which was only fitting for the occasion, and secured its shape using the fold.
Each took a line. After that,
"Now who's going to be first?" said Lonely.
"Me," said Shygirl, now looking at Ace Baby, "so get on the bed."
She stood at the end of the bed, Lonely and Dreamer on either side. She put her thumbs on each side of her pants near the front, looping them through the belt loops, letting her index fingers play with her top brass button, as if she were going to unbutton it. A single ray of light escaping the drawn curtains played upon its surface. The gleam of light off her metallic button stood out easily against the dark blue of the cotton fabric. When his synapses finally began snapping like a jazz musician's finger tips he thought,
"Ah, button, brass button, you have made a slave of my attention. Do with it what you will."
She sensed this thought, feeling it all the way to the foot of the bed. So she did.
She focused his attention so much, that each time it glittered; he could see the letter it hit. First it was the L, then the E, then the V, next the I, finally the S. He felt as if was watching a golden spark flash from Flash Gordon's ray gun.
"Gee, "Shygirl said, "he looks a little high."
She ought to know, it was her brother Sean who had served him the stuff.
"Now's the time for you to take off your pants."
He did. Dreamer folded them carefully and placed them on a chair.
"Now comes our game," Shygirl said, "You gotta close your eyes. Then we're gonna take turns. You gotta keep ‘em closed tight. Then afterwards you gotta tell us who was who, just by feel, O.K.? No peeking, promise?"
This was a game he was ready to play. He was ready to play it big time.
"Now be real quiet. Maybe you can tell us by the way we sigh."
"Well girls," he heard a feminine voice say, "who's going now?"
So he closed his eyes real tight, and opened his ears. He listened real careful like, and was waiting to feel something. After a few seconds he heard the click of the door. He just couldn't wait any longer so he decided to peek. He looked both left and right. All three were gone. He looked at the chair. So were his pants.
The girls arrived home squealing with delight. Pops saw them rush into the bedroom.
"Something's up," he told Moms.
About ten minutes later, Moms answered the door. A strange man was there wrapped in a towel. So Pops did the interview.
When Pops entered the girl's bedroom they were on the floor laughing like hell, around a pile of credit cards lying near a brown leather wallet, and were already dividing up the spoils. They explained it all. Stacks of green bills were distributed between them. He picked up the wallet and cards, saying,
"These will only get you into more trouble," and returned them respectfully to the man in the towel outside. After he left, they all had a laugh, including Moms.
The next day the girls returned to school wearing a new pair of tennis shoes each, new Hello Kitty binders and notebooks, new Hello Kitty pencils. They gave out bubblegum to absolutely everybody in class, creating problems for the teachers. These girls were just bad. Maybe even real bad, but not stupid. Not as stupid as Ace Baby that's for sure. Oh yeah...Ace Baby...if you're reading this...welcome to Compton.
- Use for below to send feedback to author - View the Authors profile here
- The following form will send feedback to the author about this short story, please enter your e-mail if you wish a reply (which is obviously at the authors own discretion)